


I Can't Be Wrong

by pineapplesquad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20 coda, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Crying, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Finale, Requited Love, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair, Spoilers for Episode: s15e20 Carry On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplesquad/pseuds/pineapplesquad
Summary: Bobby was right: thisisthe Heaven Dean deserves because it’s worse than Hell. Heknowswhat Castiel is asking him to say. He’s practically begging Dean to say it and it’s the one thing Deancan’tsay because if Deansays itout loudand he’swrong...The status quohurtsbut Dean would rather keep things the way they are than be wrong. He’d rather cease to exist than spend eternity in Heaven if he’s wrong. “Don’t youknow,Cas,” Dean pleads.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 214
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	I Can't Be Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> So the original note I had here was "Can't believe I came back after 5 years for THAT, smdh..."
> 
> I spent almost a whole week working on this and another SPN post-finale fix-it but, y'know, now there's "Y yo a ti, Cas" so nevermind I guess...
> 
> But this one was mostly done. So, with American 15x18 in mind, here you go.

It’s exhilarating at first. The ride is smooth and the view is beautiful and Dean drives with the windows down, blasting Kansas and singing along at the top of his lungs. He feels freer than he’s felt in years. _This_ is what Heaven is supposed to be. Reliving his favorite memories would have been nice and all, but there would always be an undercurrent of sadness to it. Though they might be moments Dean is happy to relive, it would only be a matter of time until Dean relived the _wrong_ happy memory and began yearning to experience “memories” that he’s never actually had.

But he isn’t confined like that, not here. He can drive Baby wherever he wants, for as long as he wants. He can visit Bobby whenever he wants. He can visit his parents whenever he wants. He has the rest of his afterlife to do whatever he wants. He’s not sure how long it’ll take Sam to get up here but he hopes that Sam lets himself enjoy living because he **deserves** it after everything he’s sacrificed. And when Sam’s time on Earth is done, Dean can see him again too. Whenever he wants.

 _“You’ve got everything you could ever want or need or dream,”_ Bobby said.

 _This_ is what Heaven is supposed to be.

And yet — for some reason Dean can’t fathom — as “Carry On Wayward Son” fades away, so does his smile.

Now all he can hear is the wind whipping by and the roar of Baby’s engine, but that’s fine. He’s always loved driving in comfortable silence just as much as he loves cranking the stereo up to its highest volume. Everything about this is _good_ and _right._

No one is in danger.

No one needs saving.

Dean can do _whatever he wants;_ there’s nowhere that he has to be.

No one needs him.

_“Everyone happy, everyone together.”_

It was exhilarating _at first_ but now it’s getting uncomfortable. Dean’s heart is still fluttering and he still feels jittery but the joy has vanished and he’s...

Honestly, he’s _irritated_ because _**what the hell.**_

He’s supposed to be _happy._ He’s in paradise. He can _rest._ He’s going to be here forever, surrounded by everything and everyone he’s ever—

_“Cas helped.”_

Dean tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He’s not sure how long his hands have been shaking but he hopes they’ll stop soon because he _just_ got here and he doesn’t want _this_ for the rest of eternity.

For all the money in the world (that he no longer needs) Dean couldn’t tell a soul what his reaction had been for the five seconds after Bobby mentioned Castiel. He’s not sure how he processed it. He’s not sure he _did_ process it. If he’s honest with himself, he hasn’t fully processed Castiel’s _death,_ though he’s replayed everything about it more times than he can count.

Thinking back now, the four weeks after Castiel’s death are a bit of a blur. Dean found ways to distract himself — both big and small — but he knows that he was fast approaching his limit, and nothing good has ever come of Dean Winchester hitting his limit. He would’ve crashed **_hard_** (he still might) and the likelihood of doing something unnecessarily foolish would have jumped to one hundred percent.

He knows that his death hurt Sam and his little brother will probably carry that hurt for the rest of his life. But, for Dean, an early death was the better option. Dean was scared when he asked Sam to stay with him as he died, but then he _looked_ at Sam and he knew that Sam was going to be okay. He knows what it must have cost his brother to promise to truly let go but Sam has the courage and strength to move on. Courage and strength that Dean will never have; if their roles were reversed, he could never make that same promise to Sam.

And Dean is grateful that he’ll never have to.

All things considered, it was a shitty way to die after everything he’s been through, but the few times that Dean forced himself to think of the future, he didn’t like what he saw. If _that_ was meant to be Dean’s story then he doesn’t want it. He wants...

He wants _something else._

And now he _has_ something else.

He saw Bobby and his Baby and everything was _good_ for a solid ten minutes. Driving and listening to Steve Walsh belt out “lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more” was uplifting.

 _Everything_ about this place is a relief from the burdens he carried on Earth.

So why the hell doesn’t Dean _feel_ relieved?

_“It’s the heaven you deserve.”_

But it’s not the one he wants, is it?

Dean manages to pull the car over without slamming on the brakes or swerving off the road. Not only are his hands still shaking, now his skin tingles unpleasantly all over and his pulse is picking up speed — and it’s not excitement that’s expanding inside his chest, it’s dread.

(Why does he still _have_ a heartbeat? Of all the things to carry over into the afterlife, Dean would not put “my body’s response to anxiety” _anywhere_ on the list.)

A drop of water falling onto the back of his hand startles him and he looks down at his lap to see that he’s been nervously wringing his shaking hands. Only when another drop falls does he realize that they’re _tears._

 _“ **Son of a bitch** ,”_ he hisses, his annoyance intensifying. He wipes at the tears but after his third pass, it’s clear that they aren’t going to slow or stop. Dean gets out of the car, his feet unsteady under him as he slams the door shut a bit too hard and just _moves_ in hopes that it will help him get a grip.

But it doesn’t. Dean paces around the car and there’s an awful, sour feeling building in the pit of his stomach. “Can’t even be happy in Heaven,” he grumbles to himself, deciding to walk down the road. (Baby will be fine; he can keep driving after he’s gotten this out of his system.) “Can’t even be happy when there’s no reason to be anything _but_ happy.”

His afterlife is going to be shit if _this_ is what Dean has to look forward to. What’s the point of coming to Heaven if it isn’t going to be much better than Hell? He’d rather relive memories. He’d rather _sleep._ He’s tired of _feeling._ He would rather be...

Empty.

_“The one thing I want...”_

Dean’s stomach drops and his legs feel like they’ll give out at any moment. He’s known _this_ feeling for far too long and right now it seems like it might stay with him forever. He feels sick as he remembers the _conviction_ in Castiel’s eyes as he said that he can’t have the one thing he wants. What’s the one thing that Castiel wants?

It seems like the answer should be obvious. Of course it means—

_But it might not._

Dean might be in Heaven, but this isn’t _his_ heaven. It never will be. Dean can’t be happy here when the one thing he wants...

 _“Happiness isn’t in the_ having. _It’s in the **being.** It’s in just **saying it.** ”_

 _ **That**_ is total horse shit. Dean has been _**being**_ for over ten goddamn years and it hasn’t brought him a moment of happiness. Not _true_ happiness. Maybe bittersweet acceptance at best, and violent longing and despair at worst. **Being** hasn’t made Dean happy; it’s rotting him from the inside out.

Dean tries to take deep breaths, unsure of what he should do but aware that he needs to do _something_ before he caves in. He grabs onto the first idea that floats to the surface, despite how foolish and pointless it is. He’s _desperate_ and he’ll try just about anything to make this feeling go away.

“Not sure if there’s any point in...” The words catch in his throat. He’s still a crying, shaking mess, and walking isn’t helping because there’s nothing to run away from.

A small, miserable voice in his heart tells him that there’s something he can run _**towards,**_ but Dean knows that he’ll never have the guts. If the one thing Castiel wants is what Dean hopes it is, Dean will never be able to make the first move.

“Not sure if you can still hear,” Dean mumbles. “Just because you ‘helped’ doesn’t mean you’re... that you...”

_Spit it. **the fuck** out, Dean._

He clears his throat. “You, um... I lasted about a month after... everything. So... _that’s_ what you died for.”

There is _no reason_ for Dean to be acting like this but he feels like he’s going to rattle right out of his skin. He glances back and he can’t see Baby anymore. He’s not worried about leaving her out on the road but Dean feels a horrifying chill run down his spine at the thought of turning back, so he keeps moving forward.

“I thought about you,” he whispers. For how nerve-wracking this is, he may as well be screaming it for everyone in the universe to hear and he _knows_ that’s ridiculous because there’s a pretty good chance that _no one_ can hear him.

Even the person he’s talking to.

There were only a few times that Dean was drunk enough to pray to Castiel, asking for a sign that he wasn’t still locked away in the Empty. He even prayed to Jack, asking for _anything at all_ that might tell him that Castiel wasn’t going to float in the abyss forever because of _Dean._ When he didn’t receive an answer, Dean considered that maybe Jack _couldn’t_ get Castiel out of the Empty, even with his new status. (The instant Dean wondered what it would take to get Castiel out, he decided that he couldn’t pray anymore. He was approaching his limit and entertaining thoughts of bursting into the Empty with guns blazing was the _last_ thing Dean should be doing.)

But if Castiel isn’t in the Empty and he didn’t answer Dean’s prayers then it must be because he didn’t hear Dean. Castiel might not even be an angel anymore. (A dark part of him wonders if Castiel _can_ hear Dean and is choosing to ignore him, but he refuses to let that thought take hold. After everything they’ve been through, that _can’t_ be true.)

“I tried not to think about you because every time I did, it felt... I don’t know, I felt sick. But I couldn’t stop it. I thought about you **_every single day,_** even if it was only for a split second. I think... it’s probably better that I died so soon because I... Everything is the way it’s supposed to be. Everything is _good_ now. And I _still_ would have... Maybe I _wouldn’t_ have — I guess we’ll never know. Either way, it still sucks that you wasted your life for _this.”_

Between one step and the next, Dean hears a second pair of footsteps beside him and he nearly loses his shit. A heart physically _can’t_ beat this fast and it’s only getting faster as Dean’s agitation rises.

“I wouldn’t say it was a waste,” **_he_** says quietly. “But even if it was, it was mine to waste.”

Dean’s eyes are wide and he keeps them fixed on the road ahead of him. He isn’t suffocating because he’s already dead but it sure as hell _feels_ like he is. Every second that ticks by brings new sensations and emotions and Dean hates every last one of them. “Still,” Dean says shakily, “I’m sorry.”

Castiel hums, thoughtful. “I’m not,” he says simply. Though Dean hasn’t looked at him, he can tell that Castiel is too far away to reach out and touch (though Dean wouldn’t dare). The distance feels as uncomfortable and as _wrong_ as whatever the hell is happening inside Dean’s chest right now.

“So... you’re an angel again.”

“Not quite.”

That... explains nothing. “But you can still hear prayers?”

It’s only because Dean is hyperfocused on listening that he notices the slight hitch in the other man’s stride. “No,” Castiel admits quietly. “I can still hear _**you.** ”_

“Right,” Dean whispers, unsure of how else to answer when his mind is stalled on the admission.

 _He can’t hear prayers, but he can hear **me.**_ His heart swells at the thought, then quickly sinks.

He heard everything.

And he didn’t answer.

That _can’t_ be right. “So you heard me when I asked for a sign — any sign at all — that you weren’t still locked away in the Empty?”

His voice is guilty as he answers, “Yes.”

Dean clenches his fists, fresh tears already burning hot in the corners of his eyes. “And you decided on radio silence.”

“I’m not quite an angel anymore,” Castiel repeats, apologetic. “Not as I was before.”

Dean chews on that for a few seconds and then his fists unclench. “So when Jack said he wouldn’t be hands-on...”

“I would have responded immediately if I was able.”

Dean feels the barest spark of hope, familiar to him only because it refuses to stop igniting no matter how many times it’s been extinguished. Every look, every touch, every word... Dean has _**always**_ wanted it to mean more than what it is on the surface and he always manages to break apart, overanalyze, and explain it all away. He wants, with all his heart, for Castiel to mean what Dean _hopes_ he means.

Something inside is so painfully **sure** that he’s not wrong. A piece of his heart that won’t stay quiet (regardless of how many times Dean has beaten it down) insists that this isn’t all a figment of his imagination; insists that Castiel is (and has been) saying what Dean _wants_ him to say; insists that Dean hasn’t misunderstood a damn thing. But doubt and fear planted themselves in Dean over a decade ago and the roots run _**deep**_ because Dean has done nothing but nurture those fears and doubts with self-hatred and indecision.

After a long period of silence, Castiel sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says quietly, defeated. “For the way that I left. It was... a mistake. I know—”

“It really was,” Dean snaps before he can stop himself. The anger is a familiar comfort that Dean craves right now. “What in _the **hell**_ were you thinking?”

Beside him, Castiel slows his pace. “I needed to save you,” he says, his voice small.

“A fucking _waste,_ ” Dean shoots back.

Castiel stops walking and Dean does too. He still can’t bear to look at the other man because he’s sure that he’ll see something that he can’t handle. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable,” Castiel says stiffly.

Dean can hardly hear him but, when the statement sinks in, confusion and anger cause Dean to finally turn his head to glare at Castiel. “ _Uncomfortable?_ Uncomfortable. I would have given just about _anything_ to be _**only**_ uncomfortable!”

Castiel’s brow pinches in a hint of anger. “Then why don’t you tell me what I should have done,” he says, his tone harder.

“Literally _**anything else!** ”_ The crack in Dean’s voice echoes around them and he feels something hysterical starting to boil over inside him as he watches Castiel recoil violently from his words. He takes a step towards Castiel and shouts, “Getting yourself killed was _**not**_ the only solution! We could have... I know it was bad but we... we could’ve thought...” He wants to say that they could’ve found another way, but he knows that wasn’t possible. There was nothing they could do and they would have died together.

Dean thinks he might have preferred that.

Castiel’s hurt expression smooths over and is replaced with confusion. The “not quite” angel blinks and tilts his head curiously. His eyes are as blue and obnoxious as ever as he stares at Dean in silence for what feels like hours. When Castiel finally speaks, his tone is cautious. “I think... I don’t think we’re having the same conversation.”

Dean doesn’t understand what that means and he’s too keyed up to bother trying to dissect it. “What the hell does that mean,” he snaps.

Castiel’s gaze is still contemplative and Dean has never felt as strung out as he does right now under the angel’s scrutiny. Several emotions show in his blue eyes but Dean can’t name a single one of them. “Dean, please tell me _exactly_ why you’re upset with me.”

Castiel hasn’t even finished his statement before Dean leans forward and screams, _“ **YOU LEFT!** ”_ Dean is gasping like he’s running a marathon and his breaths only seem to be getting faster. He can’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears and he isn’t sure if he’s whispering or shouting anymore. “You... you said... _**everything you said**_... and then you just... _left me there!”_

Castiel’s stare is suddenly far too intense. Dean wishes it would trigger his fight or flight response but instead an invisible force has him pinned in place. He _still_ can’t name any of the emotions swimming in Castiel’s expression and there are too many emotions writhing under his own skin for him to pick apart. Except for one:

__

#####  _**Terror.** _

Castiel holds his hands out to his sides, offering himself as an open target. “I’m here now,” he says carefully. “What would you have liked to say to me in that moment?”

Yes, terror is _exactly_ what’s building inside Dean and he isn’t sure what’s going to happen when it finally causes him to burst. It’ll be so much worse than the way his hands are shaking. It’ll be so much worse than the fat tears he feels rolling down his cheeks and soaking into the neckline of his shirt.

His vision is blurry but between blinks, he sees that Castiel’s eyes are starting to water as well. “After everything I told you,” Castiel says, his voice barely above a whisper, “what did you want to say to me?”

Honestly, Dean wanted to scream then and he wants to scream now. He isn’t sure _what_ he wants to scream — maybe just a wordless, piercing wail that will somehow get across everything that Dean is too afraid to say out loud. Dean knows the words. He knows that saying it will bring an end to this awful uncertainty (for better or worse).

Dean is tired of being afraid and he _**wants**_ to say it. More than anything.

But he can’t force the words out. The fears and the doubts keep everything inside with a vicelike grip and he doesn’t have what it takes to shake them loose. “Don’t leave.” Not the _whole_ truth, but it’s all that Dean can manage right now and he very much would have wanted to say that if he hadn’t been frozen in horror and disbelief.

 _“Why_ should I stay,” Castiel asks gently, taking a step forward. If they both stretched their hands out, their fingertips would probably brush.

Dean doesn’t have an answer for that because there _isn’t_ a reason that he should stay. Castiel should have cut his losses _years_ ago and left Dean far behind. The angel means more to Dean than he can ever express in words, yet he’s treated Castiel like shit even when he was _trying_ to be a friend—

“Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it.”

“You a mind reader now?”

“I know how you see yourself, Dean.” It’s not spoken in the same desperate rush. There’s no need to get all the words out before it’s too late and that’s the only thing that keeps Dean from spiraling at the familiar words. “I held your soul so tightly that it left a mark on your skin.”

Dean remembers the confusion of seeing the mark on his shoulder for the first time. He remembers the relief of watching it slowly fade away. He remembers the disappointment of catching his reflection in the mirror one day and seeing that there was no trace of it left.

Dean remembers the wrecked, _“ **Damn it, Cas** ,”_ that he uttered when he finally found his voice after the Empty claimed Castiel. He remembers the comforting haze of detachment that followed. He remembers splashing water on his face hours later and seeing blood in the shape of a familiar handprint on his shoulder like some kind of bullshit poetic symmetry.

Dean remembers looking into his own eyes in the mirror. He remembers thinking with absolute certainty that he would be digging his own grave if he didn’t throw the jacket into the fire.

Dean remembers frantically ripping the jacket off and throwing it into the trunk of the car. He remembers looking at the crumpled pile of fabric. He remembers the vicious desire to _watch himself_ implode as punishment for being unable to say the one thing that Castiel _**deserved**_ to hear from Dean before being swallowed by the Empty.

“Dean.” The glimmer of sadness in Castiel’s voice brings Dean to the surface. “I know the expression you wear when you’re beating yourself down. Whatever you’re thinking right now, that’s not the answer.”

“What, so there’s a _right_ answer?” Dean snorts, unsettled by how well Castiel can read him.

Castiel takes another step forward. “There might be,” he says softly. Then repeats, “Why should I stay?”

Everything feels too intense, like a live wire is touching an exposed nerve. “You should stay because I” — **love you** — “ _want_ you to stay.”

Castiel steps forward again. Dean wouldn’t have to reach very far to touch Castiel (though he wouldn’t dare). “Dean, _why_ do you want me to stay?”

Bobby was right: this _**is**_ the Heaven Dean deserves because it’s worse than Hell. He _knows_ what Castiel is asking him to say. He’s practically begging Dean to say it and it’s the one thing Dean _can’t_ say because if Dean _says it **out loud**_ and he’s _**wrong**..._

The status quo _hurts_ but Dean would rather keep things the way they are than be wrong. He’d rather cease to exist than spend eternity in Heaven if he’s wrong. “Don’t you _know,_ Cas,” Dean pleads.

Castiel takes another step and _now_ they’re close. Close like they’re _supposed_ to be. Close like they’ve always been, yet still just as achingly far apart. The weight of Castiel’s stare is overwhelming, his blue eyes focused and burning and questioning. Dean thinks he sees a hint of desperation too. “Dean, I need to hear you say it,” he whispers. A tear trails down Castiel’s cheek and when his lips twitch up in a slight smile, it lands in the corner of his mouth. “I already went first.”

Dean really is the _worst_ kind of coward because _**what else could that possibly mean?**_

Nothing.

There is _nothing else_ that could mean. Dean _knows_ there’s _**nothing else**_ that could mean but there’s still a chance that it _**doesn’t**_ mean what Dean wants it to mean and that doubt is utterly paralyzing. “I can’t,” Dean breathes, nearly at his limit. “Cas, _I **can’t.** ”_

In a few blinks, Castiel manages to lock every emotion in his eyes behind a wall of resignation. Dean feels like his soul is screaming. It’s a wonder that _anything_ can keep Dean completely silent right now because the noise inside is damn near loud enough to rip him in half. But this is a fight that Dean knows he’ll never win. Fear will _always_ keep him silent and he hates it _**so**_ much.

 _Save me,_ he wants to beg. _**Please!** I need you to tell me I’m not wrong! I can’t say it unless I know! This means too much and **I can’t be wrong!**_

Dean’s face must be doing _something_ because that searing intensity is back in Castiel’s eyes and he tilts his head. “You... **can’t** ,” he says slowly, thoughtfully.

Dean feels like Castiel is drawing closer at a snail’s pace and somehow his eyes are only getting bluer. They’re _so close_ that it’s painful to not move towards him in response but Dean’s body is locked in place. He can’t move, he can only feel the heat that Castiel’s body radiates as he moves in slow motion and stares at Dean for what feels like several lifetimes.

“You can’t,” Castiel repeats softly. His breath ghosts across Dean’s face and he’s sure that his heart will stop any moment now. The pace is agonizing but Castiel is still moving closer and Dean stays immobile. But he’s begging with his eyes. _Begging_ Castiel to mean everything that he’s said. _Begging_ Castiel to leap first because Dean is too afraid of being wrong.

Cool, hesitant fingertips graze against Dean’s jaw before a palm settles, cradling Dean’s face like he’s something delicate. Dean would hardly have to do more than tilt his head to close the distance but his body _won’t fucking **move.**_

“ **You** can’t,” Castiel says a third time, his voice a whisper, “but _**I**_ can.”

Warm lips brush feather-light against Dean’s before pressing more purposefully and it’s _**finally**_ enough. Over twelve years of looks and touches and words and moments between them have been unmistakable but only this kiss is enough to dislodge the fear and doubt.

Dean feels like a puppet with its strings cut. He chokes on a sob and it breaks the kiss and jostles Castiel’s hand away from his cheek but it breaks something else inside him — something that Dean has _**wanted**_ to break for over a decade.

 _Now_ he can move and he doesn’t need to fight against fear and doubt to frame Castiel’s face with his hands and kiss him again. He tastes like the salt from his tears and his wet cheeks and stubble make Dean’s palms itch but Dean wants to live in this moment for the rest of time.

Castiel risked his heart when Dean couldn’t. He took a chance when Dean couldn’t. No words will ever be enough to show Castiel what that means to Dean, but he knows where to start. Dean pulls back just enough for them to catch their breath. “I love you, too.”

Castiel reels back, wet eyes wide as he stares at Dean. “I thought... you just... you said you couldn’t say it.”

Castiel manages to spit it out before Dean’s world can collapse in on itself and Dean takes a deep breath, folding himself into the angel’s space to calm his racing pulse. The doubts and fears are going to be difficult to uproot, but he’s not the only one fighting. Not anymore, not ever again. Every look can now be a plea for reassurance and every touch an affirmation that their love is reciprocated. Dean is more than ready for this uncertainty to wither and die.

“I meant I couldn’t say it without knowing,” Dean says in a hushed tone. “I meant I couldn’t be wrong. I know you said it before the Empty took you but you were saying goodbye and I wasn’t sure if... Cas, _if I was wrong..._ ” Terror flares in his chest like a phantom injury and Dean buries his nose in Castiel’s hair, breathing him in until it abates. “I don’t think I could’ve handled it. I was too scared to take that chance.” Tears are still rolling down Dean’s face but he smiles. Even his tears feel lighter now that he _**knows**_ that this isn’t one-sided. “I’m not as brave as you. You took a gamble when I couldn’t. _**Twice.**_ Cas, I... I know you were scared too and I’m so sorry.”

Castiel pulls back a little to look at Dean with a teary smile. His eyes are so blue and so affectionate that Dean can hardly stand it. “If you can believe it,” Castiel says quietly, “I didn’t do it for me. I made myself do it for you.”

Now that he doesn’t have to hide or struggle against it, the raw strength and intensity of his love for Castiel are hitting Dean like a hurricane. _“I love you, Cas,”_ Dean repeats, leaning in to press their lips together briefly before pulling him closer. Not just a hug, but a lover’s embrace. The way he was always meant to hold Castiel because this is how they were made to fit together. It took them twelve years to get here and Dean has twelve years’ worth of things that he wants to say and do and he isn’t sure where to start. “I’ll spend the rest of our existence making sure you believe that. I never have and I never will love _**anyone**_ the way that I love you.”

Castiel sways in Dean’s arms and he wonders if Castiel meant to do that to both of them or if Dean actually made his angel ( _ **his**_ angel!) _swoon._ “Keep talking like that,” Castiel warns with a wet chuckle, “and there’s _**nothing**_ in all of creation that I won’t give you.”

Dean hums thoughtfully, feeling drained and tired and safe and so **so** content that he could fall asleep just like this, standing and everything. “Lucky for you,” he murmurs, kissing the space below Castiel’s ear, “there’s only one thing in all of creation that I want. And you already gave it to me.”

Castiel makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat and suddenly they’re kissing again. It’s slow and possessive and _so full of love_ and Dean sighs, melting against the love of his life. This is what _Dean’s_ heaven is supposed to be. _**Castiel**_ is Dean’s heaven and now he can look forward to the rest of his afterlife.

 _“This_ is what was missing,” Dean says against Castiel’s skin when they break apart. “I was barely keeping it together those last few weeks I was alive. If I had more time to let it all sink in... It would’ve been bad, Cas. I would’ve been miserable. Then I get up here and Bobby says I have everything that I could ever want but it took less than ten minutes for me to start freaking out at the thought of spending forever here.” He looks at Castiel. Maybe Dean is pouring it on thick but he means every word and he’s got a lot of catching up to do. And, if he’s honest, he wants to see if he _can_ make Castiel swoon. “I wasn’t going to be happy anywhere but _right here_ because _this”_ — he raises a hand to lay against Castiel’s cheek — “is the one thing I want.”

Castiel’s eyes flare and Dean decides that he’s going to say every single sappy thought that he’s ever had in his life to keep that look of adoration on Castiel’s face. “You can have this for as long as you want, Dean,” he promises. “You can have _**me.**_ You always have.”

Dean smiles and cards his fingers through Castiel’s hair, overjoyed that this moment and so many more are his to have. “Then let’s go home.”


End file.
